


national anthem (heaven's in your eyes)

by phoebo



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, angst angst baby, but they love each other ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebo/pseuds/phoebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is he actually likes it. He loves the hunger that burns under his skin when he grabs a hold of Mike's hip, he gets slowly addicted to the aching pain on his chest when he can't even stand close to him.</p><p>Ryan misses. Michael doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	national anthem (heaven's in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and English is not my first language, so please forgive my mistakes.  
> Inspired by Lana Del Rey's song "National Anthem". Originally posted [here.](http://precipitiamo.livejournal.com/13036.html)

It's something that always catches him out of his guard, the fact that he sees him naked three times a day — twice in the locker room, one after practice — and he's still hungry for his touch. Like, every second they spend together.

Ryan jokes about it, saying that his skin is pretty touchable as an excuse, but… it's not about Michael's skin. It's about Michael itself.

The problem is he actually _likes it_. He loves the hunger that burns under his skin when he grabs a hold of Mike's hip, he gets slowly addicted to the aching pain on his chest when he can't even stand close to him.

But still, he hangs on to this little touches he steals from Michael every now or then.

When they are both swimming together he revels in his fingers brushing fast against the other's, when they are looking at their final time he searches for Michael's legs under the water, and the (second) best part of a race is the hug he pulls him in when they are happy and winners.

There must be some kind of drug that perspires from Michael's whole body. And it must be hidden really deeply, because Ryan can't find whatever it is just by looking on the surface.

I mean, look at him. He's a clumsy guy who can't put a feet after another, with a body completely out of proportion and a weird smile. He only finds his grace under the water, where he picks his strength and his power and his confidence. He's born for another reality, he's out of his place anywhere but in the pool. 

And by Ryan's side.

Every inch of his skin radiates this _something_ that hurts him and makes him feel this strange, pleasant pain. And he _knows_ this doesn't really makes sense, but what else about Michael Phelps does?

+

Finding out that you are in love when you're in the middle of an Olympic race isn't really ok.

Well, actually _it is_ , because Ryan finally understands why he isn't that sad when he gains that silver medal instead of the golden one. Because Michael got that one.

And it's sort of reassuring, he's not really crazy: he's in love. Or, maybe, it's the same.

Finding out that this was your last race against each other in the middle of the award ceremony of the above-mentioned race isn't really ok.

Well, he already knew it. In fact, he was probably one of the first Michael told that.

Actually, he told him in the middle of an awkward pillow talk after slow, languid and intense sex.

_«I'm going to retire» he sneaked out from nothing._

_«No, you're not.» replied Ryan frankly._

_«Yes, I am. After London.»_

_«Ok, I don't really care. It's really none of my business.»_

_«Perfect.»_

_Ryan left with his heart broken. He should've take that by a sign he was already done for, but he wasn't really paying attention._

Something breaks again inside him, and it isn't his heart. No, that one is still beating in his ribcage too fast, slamming against the silver medal.

More likely, it's his hope. He knows he isn't the same swimmer without Michael. Hell, he isn't the same person without him. He's just The Great Lochte — the handsome, cheecky and saucy Olympic contestant — and he's not Ryan. Ryan is a man with regrets, fears, hopes and he just loves to swim. And, of course, he's in love with Michael.

So, when he watches Michael winning his last — last, he can taste the bitter word on his lips — gold medal, he feels like he's retiring too.

Maybe he is, in a way.

+

They manage to work it out somehow, whatever it means.

Michael has a huge amount of free time now, and considering his ADHD past he is trying really hard not to get out of his mind every single day. Almost every weekend, he books a flight to Florida and visits Ryan and they spend the day playing video games and lying lazily on the couch when Ryan doesn't have to train. Occasionally, they fuck each other's brains out just because they feel like — just because it fits in their friendly routine. 

Ryan aches because he's so in love and he hides it so well that Michael will never find out unless Ryan will decide to show him. And that's not going to happen soon. Definitely not.

Three years pass and nothing really changes. Ryan's still in love, still training, Michael still spends the whole week looking forward to the weekend — or to the nearest day he gets to spend with Ryan — because he really has nothing else now but Ryan and his family.

And Ryan still suffers because of this, but he doesn't let out a word of complaining because really, he has what he wants: Michael. He has him in a really shitty way but it's enough. Maybe.

+

Until, well, things fuck up.

It's not unexpected or surprising — not at all, in facts — because Ryan keeps missing and missing him when he swims, he misses the push he got from the other racer and the competition between them and the smile that resolved everything after training.

He wants Michael to miss him too. 

He wants Michael to miss swimming, to miss Olympics, he wants to see him ache because of the need to train, he wants him to feel something.

That night, Ryan returns home after a really hard session in the pool and Michael's in the kitchen, waiting for him reading a book.

He looks — well, he looks like he's waiting. The expectation burns in his eyes as he welcomes Ryan with a hungry kiss, and the blonde one doesn't complain.

Michael mouths at Ryan's collarbone and the swimmer lets out a strangled moan, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of Michael's hand on his back.

But then Michaels takes a breath on the skin of Ryan's neck and inhales the strong smell of chlorine — and it hits him just hard on his chest.

He paralyzes, and Ryan doesn't fail to notice. He immediately understands what happened, because he just knows that this particular look on Michael's face is the one he puts up when

someone talks about swimming or training or whatever the fuck is connected with Olympics.

He makes a step back.

«You miss this, don't you?» he hisses. Michael pretends he doesn't get it.

«You miss your old life, don't you?» he says again. Michael tries to answer but Ryan cuts him off. «Don't lie to me, Michael. Do not. Shit, you've been missing the pool since two years ago, aren't you? You have this look when I come back from training and pretend not to see it because it hurts, Mike, it hurts being the one that has to survive for both of us. And you know, it's really hard for me, not laying everything on you because I try to make it easier for you and all I get is —»

Something snaps inside Michael. He opens his eyes wide and look at Ryan, who's still yelling at him with an angry face and then —

«No.» Michael says.

Ryan makes a face right between his astonished one and his scared one. «What?»

«No, you got it all wrong.» Michael says, quiet.

«What?» repeats Ryan, shocked.

«It's you, it's you that—» he takes a deep breath. «—you miss me.» and it sounds like a question, but it's not.

Ryan close his eyes, unable to answer.

«Am I wrong?» asks Michael, a little bit naïve. And then he notice the barely visible tear in the corner of Ryan's right eye, and the truth hits him like a truck.

«You are in love with me.» he whispers more to himself.

Ryan snaps his eyes and starts speaking, sounding desperate and angry and broken.

«Oh, you don't really miss a thing, Phelps!» he says ironically. Frustration sinks down to his spine, breaking his voice. «I have been in love with you for three fucking years and you realize it now. But no, you are The Incredible Phelps, you do nothing wrong, except leaving me alone facing something I did in part because of you and showing up once a week just to fuck me in my own bed and forcing me to pretend I don't care… Fuck, please, say something.»

Michael remains silent.

He really doesn't know what to do — Ryan loves him? When did it happen? This is scaring, and hurried. But mostly scaring.

«I— I can't.» he murmurs, without really knowing what he's referring too.

Ryan stares.

«Ok.» he finally says, sitting at the edge of his bed. «Leave now.»

Michael doesn't make a move.

«Leave, Mike, please.» Michael nods and closes the door behind him.

+

To Ryan, this is not a big deal. Except it is, but he refuses to acknowledge the fact that he and Michael broke up.

But — it isn't a break up. The weren't even together. They where — what? Fuck buddies? Friends? There's not a word that really fits their definition.

He manages to keep on training because really, it's a good distraction, even if it reminds him of Mike constantly.

And then, Rio starts.

Ryan wins, he fucking wins two gold medals in his first and second race, and he's thirty fucking two, and everyone wants him right now. Flashes hit him like a million stars, his jaw hurts from the number of smiles he has to feed the press, and every single man in the USA is looking at him when he has to race the 200 individual medley because he's alone this time, he has enough space to make it gold —

And he does. He gets the first place. And God he's so close to beak Mike's olympic record but he's not brave enough to cancel a sign of Michael in history.

But when a really cute and blonde interviewer approaches him and starts asking question about his victory he's too astonished to pay attention to his answers.

«Now that Phelps is gone you are winning every race he used to. Do you feel like you are going to take his place?»

«No, I don't» he says sincerely, with a big smile on his face. «I used to shine brighter when he raced with me, now I think winning it's not quite the same.»

The flashes quadruple.

Mike's clever enough to avoid the press for the first part of the Olympics, but after Ryan's speech everyone is looking for him. Eventually, they find his hotel, and they literally assault him with cameras and microphones.

«Michael, how do you feel about Lochte's declaration?»

«What do you think about him?»

«Will he be able to break your records?»

«Do you miss swimming?»

«Do you miss him?»

He stares at the girl that asks that last question?

«Excuse me?» he says really slowly and insecure.

«Do you miss Ryan?» she repeats firmly.

And before he can really assimilates his own words, he says «Yes, I do. I do miss swimming, I do miss Ryan, and I'm really happy he's gone this far. If anyone will ever break my record, I really wish it's him. I mean, he's spectacular, isn't him?»

 _If you let someone break you world records, it must be love._ Missy's drunk words ring in the back of his head but he doesn't really care.

+

He loses at least ten years of life when someone stops him in the street a day after the end of the swimming races.

«Really, Mike? Spectacular? Am I really this good?»

«Ryan?» he tries.

«Well, nothing really beats when you said "Lochte was the best thing happened to me", but this was pretty awesome too.»

Michael blushes from feet to ears.

«What are you doing here, Ryan?»

«Well, I am making my country proud and kicking French asses. You know, the usual stuff. What are you doing here, Mike?» he asks, sounding cheerful. It must be the adrenaline left from yesterday's race.

«Enjoying the show of our team kicking French asses. Oh, and by the way, you really smashed in the medley race.» He stops himself when he realizes he has just said "our" team when this is not his team anymore, and his chest suddenly aches.

«Thank you. So, how are you doing? Getting bored in your flat in Baltimora? Polishing up your golden medals everyday? Crying on your Olympic records?» he says nonchalantly.

«You know, Ryan, I actually have friends. And a family. And they enjoy my company.»

«Yeah, you're just too lazy to get your ass up and actually do something.» He grins, because he's still a dick sometimes. «Whatever, wanna grab something to drink? Or do you have plans?» he drops, trying to ignore the fact that his heart is beating too fast it quite hurts.

Michael shrugs. Am I really ready for this? Fuck, he has been waiting for a year, of course he's ready.

+

Ryan is drunk enough to kiss him deep and filthy but not enough to follow him into his room.

«I should really go.» he says instead, and turns around.

Michael grabs him by his wrist. «Don't.» he simply replies.

«No, Mike, I should really go.» he sounds patient and calm, but something tells Michael he really isn't.

«Ok.» he breathes. «I'm letting you go. But —» he stops for a second, closing his eyes. «— hey, my number's still the same. And my address too. You know, Baltimore is pretty amazing this time of the year.»

Ryan laughs a bit hysterically.

«Baltimore sucks in August, Mike. There are like 95 degrees and it rains every single day. I think I'll pass.» and he's gone.

+

Three weeks later Michael's back in the USA and life sucks. Literally.

He misses Olympics — for real —, he misses Ryan and his calls in the middle of the night, he misses that something they had that was deeper than love because it was complete — it had competition, love, friendship, comprehension — and he's finally ready to admit this.

However, it's awful, cause he can't really get back swimming and Ryan. He simply can't.

Until a white envelope shows up in his box and he immediately recognize the address and he opens hit with too much strength and the paper is all shattered now.

A simple, small key falls into his palm. He reads the attached message.

_Take a chance. Try and win this game. R_

He look at the tiny object and his heart skips a beat.

The key shines bright, and although it's not really made of gold and Nike doesn't spread her wings on it, it feels like it's best medal he has ever won.


End file.
